Batgirls Still Need Brooms To Fly
by curlyteeful
Summary: Same type of idea as my other story, Lola Barton. When there's a threat to the world, the Merry Men are called upon by the government to help out. Along the way, they figure some things out that they never thought possible. Fem!Harry, M to be safe.
1. Names Can Get You In Trouble

**A/N: This is a story that I got an idea for while I was in the middle of a chapter for my other story, Lola Barton. Obviously, this is a JE/HP crossover fanfic, which there are definitely not enough of on this site. It's kinda the same as Lola Barton, but it's also kinda different. I'm not giving up on Lola Barton, but I got this down on paper and just ****_had _****to publish it.**

**Anyhoo, I sincerely hope you enjoy this!**

**Disclaimer: Don't own JE or HP.**

* * *

Despite the buckets of rain that were pouring down on her head, fifteen year old Stephanie Plum made her way slowly up the steps to the small house on the end of the street. It was nice, small and nondescript to say the least, but Stephanie could see why James and Lily had decided to stay there.

Suddenly, halfway up the steps, Stephanie stopped, pulling her coat more tightly around her face and squinted against the rain, which had begun just fifteen minutes ago but had already soaked her clear through to the bone.

Could she actually _do _this? Would she do this?

Before Stephanie could further ponder her situation, the door flew open, a beam of light spilling onto the porch, interrupted only by the shadow of one Lily Potter.

"Get your arse in here!" Lily shouted over the sound of the rain. "You'll catch your death out there!"

Stephanie ran carefully up the rest of the steps and past a frowning Lily into the house.

"Can't believe I let you walk to the store," Lily grumbled, shutting the door and turning to face a shivering Stephanie. "James would have given you a ride, you know."

"Yeah, well, _James _had to do an emergency shift," Stephanie replied, setting a plastic bag on the floor and pulling off her soaked coat. "He wouldn't have had time. Besides, I needed the exercise."

Lily snorted as she took Stephanie's jacket and hung it on a hook to dry. "That's rich, coming from you."

"It's true," Stephanie replied indignantly, slipping off her Converse and wet socks.

Lily frowned down at the sight of Stephanie's soaked attire.

"Oh, come on; let's go find you some dry clothes. This is pathetic." Lily gestured to the wet clothing before taking Stephanie's hand and leading her to the guest bedroom.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Stephanie emerged from the bathroom wearing a pair of blue Rangers sweatpants and a black long-sleeve, pulling her wet hair into a messy bun on the top of her head.

As she sat down on the bed, Lily extended a steaming mug of hot chocolate towards her –Stephanie took it gratefully, eyeing Lily's own mug of tea with distaste. She couldn't abide by the stuff, even if she wanted to.

"Thanks," she murmured before taking an exploratory sip.

They were silent for a few minutes, each sipping their respective drinks, not knowing what to say.

Finally, Lily folded her legs over each other, and set her mug on the night table next to the bed.

"Stephanie."

Stephanie stared stubbornly into her hot chocolate and swirled it, hoping that she could see the answers in the melting whipped cream.

"You're going to have to tell me at some point. You've been here for a month, and neither James nor I know what's going on. What happened to make your parents want to send you here?"

A single teardrop fell into the mug.

Stephanie's hands trembled as she reluctantly tilted her head up to meet Lily's green eyes.

"I'm pregnant."

* * *

As a rule, Isobel Andrew Stephanie Potter tended to avoid conversation with people she didn't know. They weren't necessarily trustworthy, and, besides, Isobel didn't often encounter someone she actually wanted to converse with. However, as soon as the redheaded boy and the bucktoothed, bushy-haired girl sat down in the compartment on the Hogwarts Express, Isobel was suddenly ready to share her life's story with the two.

"You've got dirt on your nose," the girl, Hermione Granger, was saying pedantically to the redheaded boy. "Did you notice? Right there." She pointed to a spot on the side of her own nose.

The boy, Ron Weasley, pointedly sneered at Hermione in return, before turning back to Isobel.

"You don't really look like an Isobel," said Ron observationally.

"That was quite rude," sniffed Hermione, before taking the seat next to Ron. "But he's right."

"Not in a bad way!" Ron replied defensively. "It's just that your name isn't quite epic enough to fit your reputation."

"Fair enough." Isobel leaned back in her seat, closely examining a Bertie Bott's Every Flavored Bean before tossing it in her mouth. "What do I look like, then?" She made a face, and spat out the Bean. _Vomit._

"Drew."

At the questioning glances of Isobel and Ron, Hermione let out a sigh.

"Your middle name is 'Andrew', isn't it? It's different, fitting."

"It's bloody wicked is what it is." Ron grinned.

Isobel thought for a moment, then grinned conspiratorially.

"I like it. Makes me want to get into trouble."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"A name cannot _possibly _make you get into trouble."

Oh, how wrong she was.

* * *

The first-years had all gathered in the Entrance Hall, and Professor McGonagall had just gone inside to make sure that everything was ready for the Sorting Ceremony.

It was dead silent, and Drew, who was towards the front of the group, knew without a shadow of a doubt that nearly all eyes were on her.

"Well, well, well."

Drew turned, and watched as a skinny, pale boy with slicked white-blond hair came to stand in front of her.

"It's true, then. What they were saying on the train."

Drew's eyebrows raised. "Oh?"

He nodded, a smirk gracing his gaunt features.

"Isobel Potter has come to Hogwarts."

"Actually, I go by Drew, now," Drew replied coolly.

Murmurs of excitement went through the crowd, and the blond gestured to the fat boys behind him.

"Fair enough. This is Crabbe, and Goyle. And I'm Malfoy."

He stuck out his hand.

"Draco Malfoy."

Ron snickered, and Malfoy shot him a disdainful look.

"You think my name's funny, do you?" he asked with raised eyebrows. "No need to ask yours." He looked Ron up and down demeaningly. "Red hair, and a hand-me-down robe? You must be a Weasley."

He looked back to Drew. "You'll soon find out some wizarding families are better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

Malfoy's hand was still extended, and Drew reached out a hand to daintily push it aside.

"Your name is just as funny to me as it is to him," she deadpanned, gesturing with her head to Ron. "And you look more like the wrong sort to me than he does."

There was a gasp from some of the students, and Malfoy looked affronted.

"You'll regret that, Potter," he spat, stepping forward in an attempt to intimidate her. "I'll make sure of it."

"You can sure as hell try," Drew replied venomously, staring defiantly into his ice cold eyes. "In fact," she spat, "I _dare_ you."

Malfoy looked like he could've thrown a punch, but McGonagall clamped a hand down on his shoulder.

* * *

"Where to put you, where to put you...You are a difficult and complicated one, indeed, Miss Potter...A heart full of bravery, loyalty and honor...Very smart, no doubt about that, not a bad mind at all...But there's cunning in your mind, a thirst to prove yourself...Resourceful, cunning, ambitious...Determined, highly determined...You would do well in-"

"Not Slytherin," Drew pleaded in her mind. "Not Slytherin."

"Not Slytherin, eh? Are you sure? You have all the makings to be great, you know, and it's all here in your head -And Slytherin would help you on your way to greatness, no doubt about that."

Drew was adamant. "Not Slytherin."

"Well, if you're sure...Better be Gryffindor!"

* * *

It was the end of first year, and the trio had just made their way through the Devil's Snare.

"That was a lot of work," Ron panted, voice slightly hoarse from screaming so much.

"Lot of trouble is what it was," Drew replied.

Hermione eyed the pair.

"Perhaps we _should_ have picked a different name," she said warily.

* * *

It was the end of fourth year, and the trio had just watched the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students leave Hogwarts.

They were walking down a corridor, when Ron suddenly asked, "D'you think we'll ever have a quiet year?"

"Never!" Drew replied with a laugh. "You are best friends with me, after all."

Ron shot a worried glance at Hermione.

"We should have picked a different name!" Ron cried in mock-outrage. "Maybe we could have avoided all this!"

Hermione and Drew burst into giggles, and Ron just grinned.

Suddenly, Hermione stopped walking.

Drew shot a glance to Ron before turning to see Hermione staring out a window.

"Everything's going to change, now, isn't it?"

Drew took a step towards her.

"Yes."

* * *

It was the middle of the summer before fifth year, and Sirius was pulling Drew around Grimmauld Place by the hand.

"Come _on, _Bambi," Sirius teased, using his pet nickname for Drew as he tugged her up to the fourth floor. "I've got something to show you."

Just off the staircase and at the beginning of a long hallway was a door that Sirius threw open without hesitation.

"It's a bedroom," Drew commented as she followed her godfather inside the seemingly unremarkable space. Curiously, she eyed the big oak desk in the corner, which had a large amount of paper strewn over it. Running a hand over a dresser at her side, Drew pulled her hand away to find it grey with dust. "Not a very clean bedroom."

"Not a very clean house," Sirius replied from the doorway. "But this isn't just any old bedroom, Bambi."

"Oh?" Drew noticed the telltale Gryffindor-red comforter on the queen-sized bed in the middle of the room. "I'm guessing this didn't belong to any of your family," she said as she sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Actually, they were the closest thing to a family I ever had."

Drew looked up at Sirius questioningly as he sat down on the bed next to her.

"Your parents, Bambi," Sirius told her softly.

Drew shot off the bed, and began pacing the room. It was as if the air had been sucked out of the room, and had been replaced with lead.

"I thought it might be fitting if you were to have it."

Drew's eyes fell on the photograph next to the nightstand, and her pacing slowed. It was the one of Lily and James Potter dancing next to the fountain, and the smiles on their faces suddenly seemed unfitting to the mood of the room.

"Are you asking me to move in with you, Sirius?" she asked, eyes lingering on the photo.

"If you want," Sirius replied.

"Yes," she said instantly.

Sirius nodded, but said nothing as he watched Drew move to the desk and stare down at the papers.

They were letters, mostly; some in Lily's elegantly sloped handwriting, and some in James's furiously slanted scrawl.

Drew traced her fingers over the thick paper, feeling the tiny difference in texture where the ink had marked the paper.

She could almost feel them sitting there with her, could almost see them writing these letters to various people. It was a time capsule, this place, where everything had been left alone, waiting on her, for her arrival.

When Sirius stood and quietly strode out of the room, Drew glanced momentarily over her shoulder, but quickly turned her attention back to the desk.

Cautiously, Drew sat down in the worn leather chair; she was unsure if it was an action she should have taken, but her gut was pushing her to do it, leading her by the hand as if to take her to something important. With slow motions, Drew pulled open the top drawer of the desk.

It was full of pens, inkwells, paperclips, everything office-oriented, and nothing that appeared to be special.

Drew dug deeper, her instincts screaming at her to find what was at the bottom of this drawer.

Sliding her hand underneath the plastic organizer, Drew's fingers enclosed around an envelope. She tugged it out, frowning when she noticed the name on the front of the envelope.

_Isobel Andrew Stephanie Potter._

Her thumbs slid trembling under the seal, breaking it with ease.

With shaking hands, Drew pulled out a few pieces of yellowed paper and a photograph of her parents with several people. Drew unfolded the papers with one hand, and held the picture in the other as she began to read;

* * *

_Dearest Isobel,_

_If you are reading this right now, it means that we are already gone, and you are of an age to make your own decisions. There are several things we have to tell you, and they are of the utmost importance._

_First of all, you must know that we will always love you, no matter what. It is so incredibly important that you know that now, and that you __always __remember it._

_Secondly, now that you are older, we thought it would be time for you to know who your birth parents are. Know that you are also our daughter, and it will remain that way._

_Your mother's name is Stephanie Plum, an American Muggle. She's the one with the wild hair in the picture. When we knew her last, she resided in a small city in New Jersey called Chambersburg, and it is doubtful that she would have gone very far outside Chambersburg._

_Now, your story begins when Stephanie was around fifteen years old, and working at this little bakery called the Tasty Pastry. One day, a boy came in and asked for a bottle of water. Stephanie gave it to him, with the comment that he could go to the water fountain down the street and get water for free. His response was to say, "I know," and leave._

_Apparently, this proceeded to happen for every single one of Stephanie's evening shifts for the next two weeks. Well, one day, he came in later while Stephanie was closing up the shop. She said, "If you order another damn bottle of water, I'm going to hit you."_

_His response was to say, "Babe," and kiss her._

_Long story short, they __had sex had relations "knew" each other behind the cupcake display, never even knowing each other's names._

_The most we can tell you about your birth father is that he was tall, Cuban, and set to leave to begin Army training the next day._

_Well, somehow, your mother's parents found out, and were not at all happy. In fact, they were livid –for future reference, the Chambersburg mindset has probably not evolved past the mid-twentieth century._

_Stephanie's father, Frank Plum was, at the time, good friends with a British man by the name of Andrew Evans. By that time, however, Andrew and his wife Lucy had already died, and frank ended up reaching us. He remembered me (your mother) from when I was growing up, and begged us to let Stephanie come stay with us for awhile so that she could escape the rumor mill in Chambersburg. We lived in a tiny house on the fringe of Muggle London at the time, so we agreed, and Stephanie arrived within two weeks._

_A month and a half later, Stephanie found out she was pregnant. Stephanie, being the person she was, couldn't bear to have an abortion, but also knew in her heart that she could never give a child the life it deserved when she herself was still a child at heart._

_Well, seven months later, Stephanie had a beautiful baby girl she named 'Isobel'. We took one look at you, and knew that it was meant to be._

_Stephanie left soon after, and it wasn't hard to see her heart shatter as soon as she set foot on that plane. It wouldn't have been surprising if Stephanie had gone home and never told a soul about what had happened while she was in England._

_Between seeing Stephanie's heart break and getting you, it was the most bittersweet moment of our lives. We spent hours upon hours trying to come up with a middle name for you, and we woke you up more than once with our shouting matches._

_It hit us one night, while we were putting you down for bed._

_Isobel Andrew Stephanie Potter._

_It was perfect._

_You were perfect._

_So, now, darling, you can do with this information what you want. You should know that we told Remus and Sirius, but never Peter Pettigrew. He never took much interest in you to begin with, so we didn't think he really had a right to know._

_We swore Remus and Sirius to a Wizard's Oath to not tell you unless you approached them first. We wanted _you _to be ready to talk about it, so we're leaving the decisions up to you._

_Whatever you decide, Isobel, we will always support you. Blood daughter or not, you have the courage of generations of Gryffindors running through your veins –follow your instincts and you will not go wrong._

_We love you darling, with all our hearts._

_Be safe, but above that, always be strong._

_All our love,_

_Mum and Dad._

* * *

Drew dropped the papers, and slid out of the chair into a ball on the floor.

* * *

**Should I keep going? Review, por favor!**


	2. Conversing With The Enemy

**A/N: M'mkay, no JE/HP interaction here, but I am setting up LOTS of important things for the future in this chapter. There will DEFINITELY be interaction in the next chapter, so stay tuned!**

**Disclaimer: Don't own HP. Don't own JE. That's all I've got.**

* * *

_"This is a complicated case, Potter. Are you sure you can handle it?"_

_ "Let me try."_

_ "Alright. We're tracing a movement of Death Eaters from Britain into the US –and we've got next to no reasoning as to why. I need you to figure out why, track them down and…we'll go from there."_

* * *

Drew was ready to throw a hissy fit that Draco Malfoy would have been proud of. She'd been on this case for days, and had been hitting nothing but dead ends, and had half a mind to hand the case over to her superiors like Kingsley and _everyone else _in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had suggested.

_You're not ready for this, _they'd said. _You should really give Silverman or Zefron _**(A/N: WHAT HAPPENED TO THE POSTER OF HEADMASTER ZEFRON?!) **_or Curtis the case. _

_ Give me a chance, _she'd told them in return. _I can do this._

Drew was starting to think that maybe they had been right. But she wouldn't give up on the case. She had been told that she was one of the most promising Aurors the Ministry had ever seen –she wanted to prove it.

A knock sounded at the door, and the secretary, Jane, poked her head in.

"Mr. Malfoy is here to see you."

Drew's eyebrows furrowed together. "Draco?"

Jane tilted her head back out the door, before tilting her head back in. "The _elder _Malfoy. You asked me to set up a meeting, remember?"

"Right!" Drew stood, smoothing out her Auror's robes. "Send him in."

A second later, Lucius Malfoy strutted into her office, looking every bit as intimidating and haughty as the last time she'd seen him…and that had been his _trial. _His _public _trial. In front of the Wizengamot. His cane with the snake head dangled between his fingers, and a dangerous smirk was spread across his face.

"Miss Potter," he drawled. "Lovely to see you again."

"You as well, Mr. Malfoy." Drew gestured to the seat across from her desk. "Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, please have a seat."

He nodded and folded himself elegantly into the wooden chair. "How may I be of assistance?"

Drew regarded Lucius Malfoy for a moment with her fingers steepled together and her lips resting on her pointer fingers. "Let me be _very _clear on what I want from you today, Mr. Malfoy. May I speak freely?"

"Of course."

"I'm working on a case –"

"I hadn't noticed."

" –that involves your…former associates."

Malfoy raised his eyebrows, but otherwise gave no reaction to her description of Drew's case. "Go on," he replied slowly.

Drew rested her forearms against the top of her desk and pressed the knuckles of her fingers together. "This is a case that involves Death Eaters –some old and some new. Now, I won't pretend that we have any sort of friendship –nine times out of the last ten that we've met, insults have been traded. But this case is important, and you're no longer invincible in the minds of the Death Eaters. You're technically an enemy, and you aren't necessarily a friend to the wizarding world yet either."

"If you've brought me here to lay out my 'situation' in all its glory, Miss Potter, I can assure you that I have far better things to do." Mr. Malfoy stood to leave.

"You have a chance to do some good in the world, Malfoy," Drew said to his back. "Gain back some of your reputation. I can help you there." Her mind registered the words that Draco had used years ago to try to persuade _her _to join up with him. It was almost ironic now, that she and Lucius had an even larger dislike for each other than she and Draco had had at the time, but her use of the words gave the elder Malfoy reason to pause.

He didn't speak, though, so she continued. "You're a smart man, Mr. Malfoy, but you're also concerned with your reputation, and I also know you to love your son. This chance, what I'm offering you now, is an opportunity to help both."

Malfoy turned back to her, cold blue eyes boring into bright blue ones.

"Draco doesn't _need _to have his name dragged through the mud more so than it already has been. Please. We can help each other."

"What is it that you want from me?" he asked quietly.

"Information," she replied. "Anything on Death Eaters that you haven't already given to the Wizengamot –and I _know _there is some."

"And in return?"

"Your reputation. Restored, at least partially, to its former glory –once you help me bring these guys down."

He stepped forward. "And how is it that you plan on restoring my name?"

Drew grinned internally. She almost had him hooked. "Naturally, when this case is solved, _you _will receive much of the credit for handing the Death Eaters over to _me. _You'll be the hero, and I'll just be the middleman. Everybody wins. You're reputation is saved, I get taken seriously. Do we have a deal?" She held out a hand.

Mr. Malfoy stared her down for a moment. "Deal." He shook her hand politely, if rather reluctantly.

"One more thing before we begin," Drew added as he sat back down.

"Yes?"

"Despite my Gryffindor tendencies, I am also known for being a logical and fair-minded person. I try not to judge off first impressions, and I'm usually somewhat unbiased when it comes to other Hogwarts houses." Drew leaned forward in her chair. "But let it be known that I am not one to give second chances very often –you are one of the lucky few. IF you should choose to cross me, Mr. Malfoy, you should also know that I make a _very _unpleasant enemy. People hold me in high regards for a _reason. _I am taking a _huge _risk with you, and your livelihood is not the only one on the line here. Despite our past, I am choosing to trust you –break that trust and I will come down on you with the wrath of the gods. And there will be _no _pureblooded ideals, Dark Magic, wards, rocks, graves or places that can hide or protect you from me. I will _hunt you down and tear you to shreds. _And trust me when I say that _I _will make Lord Voldemort look like a simpering, whining, crying bitch. Understood?"

Malfoy smirked. "You threaten me?"

"Absolutely. I am the Chosen One, the Saviour. If I can't threaten you, then who can?"

He remained stoic, but Drew swore she could have seen his Adam's apple bob up and down once. "Shall we begin, then?"

An hour later, Drew was showing Malfoy out of her tiny office with a very happy look on her face. She hadn't really been paying huge amounts of attention to the words coming out of his mouth as she'd been writing them down, but he'd assured her that he would be available for more questioning if need be.

She hurried back to her desk, and began shifting through her notes, separating the seemingly useful from the actually useful until her notes had been boiled down to two basic points:

_Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange fathered by Alexander Lestrange –also fathered a pureblooded Squib by am American witch in a one-night stand named Phillip Weston._

_Phillip Weston – Owns a seedy club that borders the Muggle world and the Magical world. Lives underneath the radar of the American MoM. _

Drew pulled the letter from her parents out of her pocket and read through it until she found what she was looking for.

_… Your mother's name is Stephanie Plum, an American Muggle…When we knew her last, she resided in a small city in New Jersey called Chambersburg, and it is doubtful that she would have gone very far outside Chambersburg._

Thank God for having the foresight to put a laptop into her office, and having taken the time to make sure that she could actually access the Internet. She really didn't know why she was researching this –it wasn't as if the two could be connected…could they?

But of course Phillip Weston had no useful results when she searched his name. With a sigh, Drew stood and made a Floo Call.

* * *

Narcissa Malfoy had to admit that she was highly surprised when Tibby came to her and told her that 'Mizz Potters' was making a Floo Call. But, being a noble woman who was highly learned in the arts of pureblooded etiquette, she stood from her chair in the tea room and Apparated herself into the library.

Now, Narcissa was a polite, albeit somewhat cold, witch, but she would never, ever, announce to anyone that she wasn't pleased to see them. It wasn't that she wasn't pleased to see Isobel Potter, but she was _highly _uncomfortable around the saviour of the wizarding world.

"Ms. Potter, what a lovely surprise," she greeted as she approached the fireplace.

Isobel offered her a small smile that did nothing to calm Narcissa's nerves. "Thank you, Lady Malfoy, it is a pleasure to see you again. I trust you are well?"

"I am, thank you. To what do I owe this…surprise visit?"

Isobel inhaled a deep breath. "I'm actually looking for your husband. He graciously assisted me with a case I am currently investigating, and I had some follow up questions that I needed to ask him. Might he be available?"

"I am afraid not; I haven't seen him for most of the day. However, if it would help your case, I would be happy to answer any questions that you might have."

Narcissa really had no idea why she was inviting the young Ms. Potter into her private life –it wasn't as if she really wanted to spend time around the girl.

However, she did owe the Potter girl her livelihood. Perhaps this would be her way of settling the score.

Eyebrows shooting in the air, Isobel appeared to choke on…well, nothing actually. "I –I don't know if that's a good idea, Lady Malfoy, I – I –mean no disrespect, I just don't want to intrude upon your privacy."

"Nonsense." Narcissa waved a dismissive hand. "Are you busy right now? I could use the company, and I can give more answers to certain things than my husband can. Come through when you are ready."

She had barely made her way halfway across the room before the fire roared and Isobel Potter was stepping gracefully out of the fireplace, _Scourgifying _herself before she stepped onto the carpet.

Narcissa eyed the younger witch for a moment. She was a pretty girl, very tall, with dark brown curls that stopped just above her chin. Wide brown eyes, nearly black, surrounded by a swarm of long lashes, with a wide face, plump lips, smooth, tanned skin that gave her the look of being more Spanish than British (and, of course, gave away the fact that she was not the biological daughter of Lily and James Potter.) and…of course, that lightning bolt scar that rested just above a sculpted eyebrow. And the long, white scar along her cheek that Narcissa knew was courtesy of Fenrir Greyback.

All in all, Isobel "Drew" Potter had the makings to be a highly attractive witch. Even with the Auror robes and the scars, which really only served to give a highly intimidating aura about her.

"Lady Malfoy," Isobel said a little awkwardly. "Thank you…for allowing me into your home. And thank you for offering to help me with my case. I only really have one question, it is in regards to –"

"Let us adjourn to the drawing room before we discuss our business."

* * *

Drew wasn't really sure what to expect from Narcissa Malfoy, but the _drawing room? _Of all places?

"Are you sure that is a good idea?"

Narcissa nodded, and for the first time, Drew saw a sliver of remorse shoot across the normally stoic witch's face. "We've permanently blocked off _that room,_" she replied. "We don't go in _there _anymore. _This_ room is on the other end of the house."

* * *

Drew liked this drawing room a hell of a lot better than she liked the last one. _This _drawing room was brighter, the spacious area decorated tastefully (of course, these were the Malfoys, after all.) in cream and Slytherin green (of course, these _were_ the Malfoys, after all.) with leather furniture and paintings of several prominent historical figures hung on the walls. The figures eyed Drew, some with curiosity, some with disdain, and, surprisingly, some with blatant admiration.

"Please." Narcissa gestured to one of two plush chairs separated by a shiny coffee table, that was, knowing Draco's family, made of the finest wood money could buy. "Sit."

Drew sat down at Narcissa's command, and immediately didn't ever want to leave. It was an utterly fabulous chair, and Drew was sure that her sigh of comfort was heard by the lady of the house, if the small smirk that spread across her face was any indication, but Narcissa was far too composed to say anything about it.

"Would you care for some tea?" Narcissa asked as she sat down.

"No, thank you," Drew replied, injecting as much grace as she possibly could into her answer. "But might I trouble you for a glass of water? I've had a long day without much of a break."

Narcissa smiled. "Tibby?" she called out.

A house-elf dressed in a yellow frock appeared with a crack. "What's can I's be getting for yous, Mistress?"

"A cup of tea for myself, and a glass of water for Miss Potter. Ice, Miss Potter?"

"Please." Drew nodded to the house-elf. "And thank you." She found Hermione's SPEW to be ridiculous (there were certain things that purebloods weren't willing to change about their lifestyles, and this was apparently one of them.), but she _was _well-practiced in the art of manners and basic diplomacy.

Tibby nodded, and Drew could have sworn that the little elf blushed before disappearing again.

The elf was back in a second, though, and handed Drew and Narcissa their respective drinks. Narcissa thanked the elf, and she Disapparated again.

"Now." Narcissa settled back into her chair. "What questions do you have?"

_Don't screw this up, Potter. _"I'm currently involved in a case that has to do with a recent movement of Death Eaters –" Narcissa cringed. " –from Britain into the United States. Your husband wasn't able to give me much on the actual movement, but he was able to give me some…interesting facts."

Narcissa raised an eyebrow. "Such as?" she drawled, in much the same manner as her husband tended to.

"The Lestrange brothers –your sister's husband, Rodolphus and his twin, Rabastan… they were fathered by AlexanderLestrange and his wife, Eleanora, yes?"

Narcissa nodded.

"But," said Drew, suddenly uncomfortable with the situation, "Mr. Malfoy informed me that Alexander fathered another child. With an American pureblooded witch."

"Yes, that is true."

"Can you possibly tell me anymore about that?"

"Alexander Lestrange," Narcissa sighed, "Was…not a faithful man. I met him a handful of times, and though he seemed to be a good father to both Rodolphus and Rabastan, he made several inappropriate comments in the time that I and my sisters spent in his company. I, like Andromeda, held little respect for him, but Bellatrix… Bellatrix was infatuated with the Lestrange family, Alexander in particular.

"She seduced Alexander," Narcissa continued, standing to stare out the window with her hands clasped behind her back. "She seduced him at the age of fifteen while Eleanora was seven months pregnant with their third child. Eleanora loved Alexander desperately, but the child was stillborn, and their marriage became…strained."

"She never left him?" Drew asked, already knowing the answer.

"Of course not. It is understandable, leaving a marriage in your Muggle society for something such as infidelity, but in a pureblooded, pre-arranged marriage, the highest, most heinous crime one can commit is to leave the marriage. No, they simply stopped interacting with one another unless it was required of them. Alexander, he traveled to America one year for business."

"He met a witch," Drew concluded.

"Isn't that how it always goes?" Narcissa threw a smirk over her shoulder. "But, yes, he did, and it was short-lived, but by all accounts, it was highly passionate. She was…free-spirited, and very educated in the ways of the Muggle world. However, she became pregnant, he left her and came back to Eleanora and his sham of a marriage, and the witch gave birth to a Squib."

"Phillip Weston."

"Despite being born a Squib and a bastard child, he was raised by his mother until she died when he was a teenager."

"Mr. Malfoy said that he runs a nightclub now."

"Bellatrix and Rodolphus spent several weeks in America once," Narcissa replied, turning away from the window. "When she returned, she spoke disdainfully of a club called 'the Crimson Fountain' and its location on the brink of some Muggle city in a place…oh, what did she call it…"

Drew didn't know why she offered the place that she did, but with a sickened voice, she weakly offered, "New Jersey?"

"That's it! And it was in some city…it started with a 'T', I believe?" Narcissa exclaimed. "How did you know?"

"I have no idea," Drew replied as she stood. "Mrs. Malfoy, I cannot thank you enough for your assistance today, it has been a tremendous help, but I really must be going –"

The door suddenly swung open, and Draco Malfoy, followed by Blaise Zabini and a whole slew of Slytherin's Drew recognized from her Hogwarts days, sauntered in, looking extremely grubby and like they had just played a massive game of Quidditch in the rain.

Well, she could see that they had been playing Quidditch. Each of them carried a broomstick, and a few of them were holding beater's bats and Quaffles.

Draco stopped midway into the room. "Potter?" he cried in disbelief.

Drew nodded. "In the flesh, Malfoy, it's nice to see you. You're looking…well. And dirty."

There was a collective smirk amongst the boys, and Narcissa eyed them with displeasure. "You all are disgustingly filthy! What happened?"

"Quidditch game, Mother," Draco replied, still distracted by his sworn enemy standing in the middle of the room. "Not a big deal."

Narcissa uttered something along the lines of, "Not when you're on my new carpet," before turning to Drew and saying, "It was lovely to see you again, Miss Potter," and Disapparating on the spot.

Drew stared at the spot where the woman had been for a moment, before a voice like silk spoke.

"Draco, I don't believe you've introduced us. Who is this fine creature?"

And instantly, Drew knew who was speaking. Pivoting around, she replied coolly, "Zabini, you sure as hell know who I am, and we have definitely been introduced."

Blaise Zabini stepped forward and gave her a sweeping bow. Drew failed to bite back a snort at the sight. One of the most handsome wizards in the wizarding communities, covered head to toe in mud, and he was giving _her _a bow?

"Really, Zabini? Stand up straight, you look like an idiot. Anyways, I've got to go; loads of paperwork to finish and very little time to actually _do _it in. Malfoy, Zabini, nice to see you. Nott, Flint, Pucey –I'll see you…whenever."

With that, she Apparated away without giving any of the Slytherins a chance to respond.

* * *

When Marcus turned his head to smirk at Adrian regarding the Potter's sudden departure, his smirk quickly disappeared when he noticed Pucey looking like he was about to throw up.

"Whoa, Adrain, mate –you alright? You look like you're going to be sick –all over Mrs. Malfoy's lovely carpets, may I add."

"She's the one," Adrian muttered under his breath.

"What in the bloody hell does that mean?"

By now, all of the Slytherins had turned to watch the exchange with interest.

Adrian stared at Marcus with a meaningful look on his face until Marcus got it.

"Oh."


	3. Knowledge of Lies

**Disclaimer: Don't own JE or HP.**

* * *

_"Hello?"_

"Hello, this is Auror Drew Potter with the British Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I'm calling for someone named…Diesel?"

_"This is Diesel. How can I help you?"_

"Mr. Diesel –"

_"Diesel, just Diesel, please."_

"Diesel, are you aware of the wizarding war that took place just over a year ago in Britain and parts of Europe?"

_"Partially. I know the players, I know what happened, and I most definitely know you. I can't say much for specific details, though."_

"So then you know about the Death Eaters?"

_"Yes."_

"There were two Death Eaters…brothers, the Lestrange brothers, and their father had an affair with an American witch. He currently resides somewhere in New Jersey, and I need to find him."

_"Then you're in luck. I'm good at finding people, especially in New Jersey. What's the name?"_

"Phillip Weston. He's a club owner. If you can't get an address, that's okay, I just need the city –"

"_Oh, darlin', I've heard of him. He owns the Crimson Fountain in Trenton."_

"Trenton?"

* * *

If there was one thing that Drew hated more than hunting Horcruxes all over the countryside, it was the heat. So, when she Apparated into the back alleyway of the chain hotel that she had reserved a room in, she was pleased beyond belief to find that it was pouring rain.

She made her way around to the lobby and stomped her feet on the mat before making her way into the well-lit lobby.

The receptionist, a blonde, liposuctioned, Botoxed woman with red lipstick and a nametag that read 'Cherri.' "Can I help you?" she asked, looking up with a wide smile, even as her fake fingernails continued to clack away on the keyboard.

"Hi, I have a reservation." Drew dropped her bag on the floor and leaned against the cold countertop.

"M'mkay." Cherri typed away for another moment before smacking her gum and saying, "Name?"

"Andrews. Lily Andrews."

* * *

"Thanks for doing this for me," Drew said as she walked into the Crimson Fountain, arm in arm with Diesel. Crimson Fountain was…not a nice place. It was a in a building behind a closed Laundromat that was missing several windows and many of its washers and dryers, and was covered roof to ground in spray paint.

The only things comforting Drew at that moment were the wand (stashed in between her boobs…she was so proud of herself for thinking of that), the knife hooked to her thigh, the Auror badge she had in her tiny wallet (which was fitted with an Undetectable Extension Charm…of course) and the gun she'd also put into the wallet, that was loaded with silver bullets, and guaranteed to kill almost anything.

Well, except for vampires, but there was a lot of wood randomly lying around. You can stake a vampire with a table leg. Not a whole lot of silver at the ready.

"No problem," Diesel, who was incognito as a much older man with graying hair and a bit of a gut, replied. "But next time you should really warn a guy before he Apparates in that he's liable to get beat up." He glanced at the spot on his knee where she'd landed a nasty kick with one of her four inch high chrome-studded gladiator heels.

"Sorry about that. Next time call before you show up, or even Apparate outside the hotel and _knock _on my door. Us Aurors aren't known for our failing reflexes. Merlin's balls, it's _disgusting _in here."

The Crimson Fountain wasn't any nicer on the inside than it was on the outside. It was close to being empty, filled with smoke, and had traces of magic _everywhere._ The scent of drugs, sweat, smoke and Febreeze was suffocating, and by the number of Muggles that were interacting with wizards, Drew suspected that they used a memory-altering charm on the Muggle club goers before they left, but it wasn't something she was willing to look into at the moment. The bar was probably the least populated area of the club, and most of the occupants were on the floor, committing some of the most _heinous _acts of sex that Drew had ever seen committed with clothes on. And she was an _Auror. _Aurors saw shit like that all the time, and even she, the saviour of the wizarding world, had half a mind to turn around and walk out.

"Oh, no, you don't." Diesel let out a half-laugh as she hesitated. He grabbed her arm, saying, "Just remember the plan, okay? _He's right over there."_

"_You _remember the plan," she hissed back as they managed to snag two empty barstools a few seats down from a tall, thin man with blond hair and a Snape-like nose. Drew knew from a picture Diesel had been able to show her that this was Phillip Weston, and by the way the man was leering conspicuously at her from the moment she'd set foot in the bar, she had him hooked.

But then he noticed that she was with another man and frowned before finding another woman to attract.

The bartender, who had previously been flirting with a couple of whorish looking Muggle women with big boobs and even bigger hair, held up a finger for them to wait a moment before attending to Drew and Diesel. "What can I get you guys?"

"Simison Steaming Stout please, if you've got it," Drew requested. The bartender stared at her for a few moments as if he knew her from somewhere (he might have, but he probably didn't recognize her with her scars under a glamour) before turning expectantly to Diesel.

"Blishen's, neat," Diesel said, taking on a slightly disgusted and haughty tone as he did so.

The bartender paused. "Odgen's okay?"

Diesel sighed as if being served Odgen's Old Firewhiskey instead of Blishen's Firewhiskey was the worst thing that could ever happen to him. "_Fine."_

_"Must _you be so rude?" Drew hissed loudly as the bartender sat their drinks down in front of them. "We're here to celebrate, darling, not sulk."

"I just don't understand why I can't get the damn drink I want," replied Diesel.

"Because, darling, we can't always have our way. Come on, lighten up –your divorce was just finalized, wasn't it? And now we can _be together _like you said we would!"

By now, Phillip Weston had looked over from where he was flirting with a redheaded witch, and was paying close attention to their conversation.

Diesel pulled out his wallet and began to pull bills from it. "Come on, I want to go."

"Well, I want to stay," she replied, folding her arms across her chest. "You can go if you want."

"Lily, we talked about this, remember?" Diesel said pedantically. "You have to stop acting like a child if you want us to be together."

"Well maybe I don't want us to be together," Drew replied, her voice rising. "All you ever do is sleep! And tell me that I have to act my age and be smarter and do as I'm told –well, you know what? I'm tired of it! I don't want you anymore!"

Drew was surprised at how little attention their argument had attracted, but she wasn't at all surprised when Weston stood, walked over to them and asked, "Is there a problem here?"

"No problem," said Diesel at the same time as Drew replied, "Yeah, and it's _him."_

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave," Weston requested instantly. "You seem to be bothering this young lady."

"Who are you to ask me to leave?" sniffed Diesel.

"The owner," Weston replied, puffing out his chest. "Now, you can either leave quietly, or I will call security on you and make you feel really stupid when they drag your ass out of here with everyone watching. Your choice."

Diesel looked like he was about to protest, actually opening and closing his mouth a few times, but decided against it. He sent Drew a "look" before turning on his heel and walking to the exit of the club.

Drew sat stunned for a moment, and when Weston turned to her and asked, "Are you alright, my dear?" she burst into what she liked to call the 'hysterical post-breakup girl'. She began to take heaving breaths, and let out a sob.

"I –I though we would be to-togeth-er for-forever!" she wailed, burying her head in Weston's tailored shirt. "H-he told me we would b-b-be together fo-forever!"

She knew without looking that she would be drawing attention to herself, and Weston wouldn't want that.

"Let's go to my office," he said quietly.

* * *

"It's not much," Weston noted as he showed Drew into the office. "But it's private. We can talk in here."

His hand was low on Drew's back, and it felt disgusting and wrong and gross and Drew wanted with everything she was to pull away. But she let him keep it in the disgusting perverted position it was in, and she let him show him into the office.

The walls in the office were obviously thin; Drew's fingers tapped lazily at her side to the beat of some guy rapping about not saving a girl who didn't have any "money in the bank", and the bass thudded lowly in her ears.

"What's you preference?"

"Haven't got one," Drew replied, fishing the knife from her thigh while Weston wasn't looking.

She moved to stand beside him, and when he looked up, she drew back her fist and punched him hard enough to break his nose. The drinks he'd been preparing fell to the floor, and Weston let out a howl of pain as he stumbled backwards to lean against his false-wood desk.  
"You 'tupid bithhh! You boke by dose!"

"I can do a lot worse than that," Drew replied coldly as she took him by the collar of his shirt and pressed the knife to his throat. "But I don't have to. I really don't _want _to, but I will if I have to."

"Who da thuck are you?"

"My name?" Drew let out a cold laugh. "My name is Isobel. But most people call me Drew."

His eyes widened as he realized who she was.

"I have a few questions for you, Phillip, and I want you to answer them all. I don't want to have to hurt you," she said in a sickly sweet tone.

"I'll ander anyting you want," he sputtered, voice muffled through the blood dripping out of his nose.

"Good," Drew replied. "Let's get started, then, shall we?"

* * *

Drew really couldn't believe she had been so stupid. How could she have just waltzed into a club that Death Eaters were known to frequent, give the owner, a known brother of two notorious Death Eaters, and expect to walk out and not have any trouble.

_Bloody, bloody, bloody, bloody, buggering, fucking hell! _

And on top of that, she'd told Diesel to go home, which, in hindsight, had been a really bad idea. He'd told her that, too.

And, on top of _that, _it had started to rain. Again.

And then Drew became aware of somebody watching her, and she whipped around, pointing the knife at the man's throat. He was a really big guy, obviously a Muggle, with a shaved head, decorated by a huge flaming skull tattoo. He could have easily taken her and her knife, judging by the size of his arms and the fact that he had an assault rifle attached to his body, but he didn't retaliate when she put her knife to his throat, only held his hands up in defense.

"Woah, whoa. I'm not going to hurt you."

"A lot of people tend to say that to me, and they're usually lying. What do you want?"

"I just want to help you," he replied.

Drew's eyes narrowed. "Who are you?"

"My name is Cal. I work with a security company, I'm a Navy SEAL –"

"That explains the gun," Drew replied, dropping the knife down to her side. "What do you want, I'm in a bit of a hurry. There are these people that want to get to me, you see, and I'm trying to make sure that doesn't happen. It's been nice meeting you Cal, but I really can't stick around, and I can't put you in the middle of this –"

"At least let me drive you somewhere."

Drew could feel her resolves breaking down, and she hastily used the back of her hand to wipe water off of her face. "Where?"

"Anywhere you need to go. Come on, it's raining, and I can help you."

* * *

"What's your name?"

Drew stared out the window. "Lily. Lily Andrews," she replied quietly.

"You're lying." It wasn't a question, and Drew didn't reply.

Cal tried again. "Why are you in trouble?"

"Can't tell you."

"Can't, or won't?"

Drew rolled her head against the seat to look at him. "Can't, as in, _can't. _As in, it's classified. Do you military guys always ask so many questions?"

"Yeah, but you're changing the subject."

* * *

It had been over two weeks since Drew had left for America, and Hermione was starting to worry. She _never _went this long on a trip without calling at least twice, and even if she couldn't call, she always sent a Patronus or a letter, even if only to appease Teddy.

Hermione sighed and picked up her cell phone. It was frowned upon to call Drew while she was away, but Hermione had a really bad feeling that something was about to happen.

Drew picked up on the third ring with a scratchy, whispery sounding voice. _"Hello?" _

"Is that all I get? Hello? Where have you been that you couldn't at least _call _to tell us that you're okay? What's going on?"

_"I'm sorry Hermione, I really am, but I just got this break in my case, and I think you'll want to hear this. It's a brilliant plan, really, and it answers a lot of questions."_

Hermione perked up. "Tell me now," she commanded.

_"I think they're trying to bring Voldemort back."_

"O-kay," Hermione replied, confused. "Why would they go to America to do it?"

_"They're Death Eaters, Hermione, and they know we're watching them. Better to go somewhere no one knows you to conduct business if you've already got a record. And, get this, they're using Muggles."_

"How does using Muggles help their cause?"

_"I think they're looking to cover all of their bases. The Muggles that the Death Eaters are using are special cases of Muggles –the kind that are completely and wholly unaffected by magic, like the 'pristinely ungifted' people in that one series that you seem to love so much."_

"But I still don't understand how that helps them."

_"How did we defeat Voldemort the last time?"_

"Mostly logic and a faulty wand."

_"But we fought with magic. What if I told you that the Muggles they're using came from militaries from all over the world?"_

Hermione finally understood. "Are you saying that they've recruited Muggle military men to make sure that we can't fight them?"

_"That's exactly what I'm –" _A loud crash cut Drew off, followed by shouts and a lot of violent noises.

"Drew? DREW!"

The line went dead.

* * *

There was a huge commotion going on when Ron and Drew's supervisor Moira Curtis showed up at the hotel they'd known she was staying at. It was surrounded by cops, bystanders, ambulances, fire trucks, firemen, EMT's and a ton of big men dressed in all black. The ground was littered with broken glass, and there was a gurney next to one of the ambulances that held what Moira suspected to be a body underneath a sheet.

A plainclothed cop stepped in front of Moira, saying, "Ma'am, you're not allowed –"

She put up a hand, pulled out the badge the Ministry had acquired for instances such as these, and replied, "Moira Curtis, British intelligence. One of mine was staying here, and I've got reason to believe she's been kidnapped. Now move before I take your job and put it in my trophy case."

He raised his eyebrows in alarm before recovering and giving her a dazzling smile. Ron, who was very aware of the fact that his job when accompanying her to crime scenes and the like was to mostly stand behind her and look tough, barely managed to hide a snort by a cough. "Now, why would a gorgeous woman like you want to –"

"Save the antics, Officer Casanova." Moira folded her arms across her chest and cocked a hip haughtily. "Tell me what happened."

He sighed. "Got a call about an hour ago from one of the hotel clients saying they'd heard gunshots and screaming coming from the floor below. Says she heard a bang, followed by some shouting, gunshots, and the breaking of glass, and then everything went quiet again. Obvious signs of a struggle, and a lot of blood, plus a dead assailant and a dead hotel clerk."

_Managed to kill an assailant before they got her? Definitely sounds like Potter. _"Who was it that they grabbed?" Moira asked, raising her eyebrows.

Just then, a man with a head tattoo (the hottest guy she'd ever seen in her entire life), wearing in black cargoes and a black t-shirt, walked by. "Excuse me, but would you happen to know Lily Andrews? She's the one that they took."

Ron inhaled sharply, and Moira wanted to laugh at Drew's choice of a fake name. The cop looked like he wanted to hit the guy in black, but Moira spoke before Officer Casanova could react. "I do, but who are you?"

"Ma'am, my name is Cal Parker, and I work for Rangeman. We provide security for this hotel. I met Ms. Andrews a few days ago –"

Moira was already pulling a card out of the breast pocket of her blazer, and handed it to Officer Casanova without looking at him. "Moira Curtis, British intelligence. Obviously, your security is lacking in efficiency, Mr. Parker. Call me if you find anything useful, Casanova."

She walked away with Parker, leaving Officer Casanova frowning, and Ron smirking as he followed behind her.

"My boss, Ranger Manoso, will want to talk to you."

Parker led her over to a sleek, black Porsche, where two large men and a smaller woman were in the middle of a conversation. Parker stood a respectful distance away, waiting until the shorter of the two, a Latino man who was shorter, but by no means small, looked over and grunted, "Cal. Ma'am."

Before Cal could introduce her, Moira pushed a piece of long black hair behind her ear and stuck out a hand. "Mr. Manoso, my name is Moira Curtis and this is Agent Weasley. We're with British intelligence, and it was my agent, Lily Andrews, who was taken. I have some things I'd like to discuss with you regarding this incident."

Manoso took her hand and shook it briefly. "Ranger Manoso, I run Rangeman Securities, and this is my second-in-command, Tank."

Moira raised her eyebrows at the large African-American man who stood next to Ranger. "Your mother named you 'Tank'?"

He smirked, but shook her hand and nodded to Ron, who looked a little uncomfortable in the company of so many men who were way larger than he was.

The woman, who had previously been standing quietly behind Ranger, pushed around him, saying, "That's what I said! Stephanie Plum, nice to meet you."

_"Merlin's balls!" _Moira heard Ron hiss, at the same time Ranger said in a slightly exasperated tone, "Babe." Moira shot Ron a disapproving frown over her shoulder. He, in turn, walked over to whisper in her ear, _"That's Drew's biological mother."_

Moira's eyes widened, and she stood ramrod straight at the announcement, but quickly recovered. "Ms. Plum, an honest pleasure," she replied, shaking Stephanie's hand warmly with a smile.

Stephanie smiled in return and stepped back to stand next to Ranger.

"Ma'am, you might as well give up the act," Tank said, looking her up and down. "We've already figured out that 'Lily Andrews' is a fake name, and we don't like to play around."

Moira nodded. "Alright, but it's nothing I'm going to discuss in public. Too many people around, and I'm really not enjoying the way Officer Casanova over there is staring." She tilted her head in the cop's direction.

Stephanie's eyebrows furrowed. "You mean Joe Morelli?"

"Yeah, I don't like him. He gives me a case of the shivers…and I don't mean the good kind."

Moira thought she saw a flicker of a grin cross Ranger's features, but it was gone as quickly as it had come.

* * *

The conference room at Rangeman was filled with the buffest, biggest, sexiest guys Moira had ever seen. They all exuded ex-military, they all filled out their t-shirts like pros…And she held all of their attentions.

Moira inhaled sharply and tilted her head back. This wasn't going to be good. It was obvious to her that every single one of these men loved Stephanie Plum, and she really had no idea how to react to the fact that she had had a child at fifteen that no one knew about.

Moira met Stephanie's gaze, and she said slowly, "Before we begin, I have a question I need to address."

Stephanie narrowed her eyes in question. "Shoot."

"Ummm…" Moira turned to Ron for help. "I might need you for this one."

Luckily for her, Ron had no sense of tact unless he'd been specifically told how to act (and even, half the time he didn't listen) and took right over. "Does the name 'Isobel Andrew Stephanie Potter' mean anything to you?"

Stephanie began to choke on nothing as the attention in the room swiveled to her at the speed of light. "Where…did you…hear…that…name?" she gasped between coughs.

"Babe."

Stephanie stopped choking and looked over at Ranger. An indiscernible visual discussion seemed to take place between them in the time frame of a second before she looked back over at Ron and Moira with wide eyes.

Ron, with surprisingly steady hands, slid a folded piece of paper out of his pocket, unfolded it and began to read. "_Your mother's name is Stephanie Plum, an American Muggle… Stephanie, being the person she was, couldn't bear to have an abortion, but also knew in her heart that she could never give a child the life it deserved when she herself was still a child at heart. Well, seven months later, Stephanie had a beautiful baby girl she named 'Isobel'. We took one look at you, and knew that it was meant to be._

_"Stephanie left soon after, and it wasn't hard to see her heart shatter as soon as she set foot on that plane. It wouldn't have been surprising if Stephanie had gone home and never told a soul about what had happened while she was in England._

_"Between seeing Stephanie's heart break and getting you, it was the most bittersweet moment of our lives. We spent hours upon hours trying to come up with a middle name for you, and we woke you up more than once with our shouting matches._

_It hit us one night, while we were putting you down for bed._

_Isobel Andrew Stephanie Potter."_

"We call her 'Drew'," Ron finished, sliding the letter to Stephanie. "And she is my best friend."

The room was dead quiet as Stephanie picked up the letter and began to read, Ranger reading silently over her shoulder. He got about halfway through the letter before he stood and walked out of the room, anger radiating off him in waves.

Lester stood halfway out of his seat to follow him, but was stopped by Stephanie. "No, I'll go. We've got…things to discuss."

* * *

Stephanie found him in the gun range, doing some serious damage to a target.

She knew he knew she was there by the way his shoulders tensed when she walked in, but he didn't acknowledge her, he didn't say anything (nor did she), but she didn't expect him to.

She sat down in a chair and waited for him to be finished. When he ran out of bullets, Stephanie didn't even bother to say anything as he picked up another magazine, reloaded the gun and kept shooting.

Magazine after magazine, clip after clip later, when she finally sensed him to be done, and he slid the headphones off his head, she still sat and waited for him to speak.

And, of course, the first word that came out of his mouth was, "Babe."

But there were so many emotions conveyed in that single word.

_You didn't tell me, you hurt me, I'm angry, I'm worried, I'm hurt, why didn't you tell me?_

"I can't make excuses, Ranger."

"Don't make excuses, then. Why?" He turned to her, leaning against the counter, folding his arms against his chest.

"I –we were young, Ranger –"

"Doesn't make the –her any less real."

"I get that!" Stephanie stood and began to pace. "I get that!"

"So why, then?"

She rubbed a hand over her face. "I haven't told you, because I haven't told anyone else! Not even my _parents _know, Ranger! How the hell was I supposed to _tell _you?"

_"Babe?"_

Stephanie threw her hands in the air in full-on Italian mode. "I was alone when I came back from England, don't you get it?! And it sounds _so _easy to just stand there and make out like I didn't want a child –I did, I wanted it so bad I thought my heart was ripping out of my chest! But _I _was a kid, I was fifteen years old! And you had Julie, and you were always talking about how your life wasn't equipped for kids and I couldn't take that sort of rejection again!"

* * *

Ron was suffocating in uncomfortable silence. It had been quiet for the last ten minutes, and normally he was the one to break silences like this, but he would refrain.

It simply wasn't his place.

* * *

"So, Bomber's got a kid…" Bobby noted slowly.

"Yeah…"

And it was utterly fascinating, and really twisted, to see all of these ex-military men who seemed to have all of their shit together rendered speechless…by a single woman.

"I have a question," Woody spoke up. "Who's the father?"

The Weasley kid shrugged. "Letter said something about a tall Cuban guy who was headed to the military and called her 'babe' –"

"Holy fuck!" Lester stood and began to pace the room. "Jesus Christ!"  
"Ranger has another kid?"

The room erupted into noise, with each Rangeman employee trying to talk over the other, and Lester pacing the room in a fit of surprised fury.

"Guys," Moira said, trying to get their attention.

The chatter and general mayhem continued.

"Gentlemen."

More noise.

"OI! Shut it!"

The noise stopped, and Moira sent a confused look in Ron's direction.

"How did that only work when you did it?"

He shrugged.

"Six siblings…had to be the bloody loudest to be heard at all."

"…good to know…" Moira turned back to the men, putting her game face on. "I know that you all are surprised…some more than others," she announced. "But that doesn't mean that we get to stop focusing yet. The goal remains the same; Drew is still missing, and we still have to find her."

"Exactly what I was going to say," Stephanie replied as she walked back into the room, followed closely by a silent Ranger. She nodded to the people in the room before turning to Moira.

"Where do you propose we start?"

Before Moira could reply to her eager question, her phone rang. She pulled it from the clip on her belt and frowned when she checked the caller ID.

_Drew, _she mouthed to the occupants of the room as she answered the call and put it on speakerphone.

"Drew? Drew, are you okay?"

Then, a voice that sent chills up Moira's back and caused her to almost drop the phone replied, and it was most definitely _not _Drew_. "Hello Moira. Miss me?"_

"Greyback. I'm surprised you've figured out how to work the phone."

_"Oh, I won't pretend to have figured it out. It's amazing what you can get Muggles to do when the price is right. I just wanted to let you know that I've got your precious Potter,"_ he spat. _"And I've got plans for her. Big plans. And unless you want her to come back to you in pieces inside a box, I'd suggest you stop looking. You know of the things I can do, Miss Moira. You've seen the work I've already done to Potter, so don't believe for a moment that I won't finish the job."_

Moira's eyes narrowed, and the entire room tensed. "I wouldn't believe that you would send her back unharmed either. How do I know you haven't already killed her?"

Greyback laughed. _"You know that I have need of her yet, but I'll appease your innate need to mother your subordinates. Come say hi, Mudblood."_

In the next moment, a collective breath was let out in the room as a shaky yet defiant voice came on, _"Moira?"_

"Drew? Are you okay?"

_"A little worse for wear, but nothing I can't handle. Been giving 'em hell too, but that made them upset so they've been using me as a punching bag for the past little while."_

Anger flashed in the eyes of every single person in that room.

Moira drew in a breath. "Listen to me, Drew. I need you to stay strong, I'm gonna get you out of this, I swear –"

A scream came over the phone that sounded eerily like Drew, and had half the room's occupants on their feet even though there was nothing that could be done.

_"We're done here," _Greyback growled. _"End the call."_

* * *

**REVIEW!**


	4. Revelations of Plans

**A/N: I just realized how much time Moira tends to spend on the phone. At least she isn't talking while driving. That's dangerous.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own HP or JE, only my own original OC's.**

* * *

The line went dead. Moira was so tempted to throw the phone across the room in a fit of anger, but she knew that she had to stay calm for everyone else that couldn't. Stephanie was shaking in her chair, Ranger and several others had snapped their pens in half, sending ink splattering down the table and Ron looked like he was about to get sick.

And that was when troubleshooting Moira snapped to attention. She looked to Ron. "We know that they've got Greyback with them, I want you to get any sort of weapons made of silver that you can get your hands on. While you're at it, go see whatever you can scrounge up from Drew's hotel room, and while you're at _that,_ get me Diesel –"

"You know Diesel?"

Moira turned to face Stephanie. "Unfortunately, darling, I more than know Diesel. He's my cousin. Christmas holidays were a nightmare with that one around. We –" she gestured to herself and Ron. "We are…_like _him. We don't work for British intelligence –"

"I could have told you that," Tank snorted.

"We're law enforcement for the magical world –"

"Like a cop?"

"Much better than that, but that's not the point. _Weasley, _I need you to get me Diesel, tell him to find Potter, whatever it takes, whatever the cost, I don't care. She's one of the most promising Aurors I've ever seen in my _life_, and I won't accept anything but a good outcome, do you understand?"

Ron nodded and left to send the Patronuses to the right people.

Moira turned back to the Muggles.

"Why silver weapons?" Ranger asked.

"It's the easiest way to kill a werewolf."

"But, aren't you guys, like...magic?" Lester added. "Couldn't you just do some witchy mumbo-jumbo and just kill the thing?"

Moira rolled her eyes at the use of language but answered him anyways. "Killing spells are far easier, but they take up a lot more paperwork and they only work about half the time. I don't want to march into something where magic ends up being unreliable. I like to cover my bases."

"Why Diesel?" Ranger had a slight look of distaste on his face when he said the name.

"You don't like him either, eh? Well, Diesel, while being a completely moronic dunderhead, has a fantastic knack for finding things that get lost. He's useful for something, at least."

"What do you want us doing?" Tank asked, leaning forward in his chair, causing the chair to creak mildly under his massive form.

"Before we get into anything in much further depth, we should get a few things straight about Drew."

* * *

"I wasn't done talking," Drew said coldly, as the Muggle man hung up the phone for Greyback. She tried to make her glare as venomous as possible, which wasn't hard, but was definitely hindered by the black eye she was sure she had coming on.

He smirked and leaned close enough to her that she could smell the stench of his breath, and she struggled not to recoil in fear at the menace in his eyes. "You were by my accounts, Mudblood. Take her back to her room."

If she could have, she would have hexed the smirk off of Greyback's face. But, her wand was gone, and she really didn't want to think about someone reaching down the front of her top to get to it.

The Muggle man, a bulky man of medium height with shoulder length, matted brown hair, grabbed Drew by her elbow, yanked her to her feet, and marched her out of the tiny office.

From what she'd been able to tell, she was being kept in an empty storage closet of an unused warehouse. Drew was reminded enormously of her time spent in the cupboard under the stairs at the Dursley's.

At least she had things to do at the Dursleys. Here, there was nothing to do except pick at threads in the nasty mattress they'd put in there and count the seconds until something actually happened.

From her time spent in the warehouse, Drew had quickly figured out that Greyback and the Lestranges and whoever else was here had somehow figured out how to block magic.

She had discovered that within the first thirty seconds of being captured.

* * *

_Of course she would lose her wand. Drew scolded herself internally as she knelt down in front of the door. Her wandless abilities weren't as expansive as Hermione's, but she had at least been able to master a few spells._

_She put her hand to the knob and began to focus her magic, but she found that it wouldn't come to her. She frowned and tried again._

_"Alohamora."_

_Nothing happened._

_"Alohamora."_

_Still nothing._

_She balled her hand into a fist and began to stare at it intently, as if her stare alone could make her magic flow into her palm and open the door._

_The door opened, but not in the way Drew expected. It flew open, thwacking her over the head and sending her sprawling onto the ground._

_Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange stood there, each with a surprised look on their face as they saw her on her back on the ground._

_Then they realized what she'd been trying to do, and they began to laugh. _

_"That won't work here, Mudblood," Rabastan growled._

* * *

The guard walked her roughly down the empty, cold hallway. His gun pressed threateningly into the middle of Drew's back, the cold barrel sending goosebumps up her spine. She tripped, once, when his incessant shoving caused her to lose her balance, and he let her fall to the ground.

And that was when she saw it.

Hooked onto his belt was a knife, glinting under the flickering lights. It was a long shot, but she had to take it.

"Get up," he grunted, grabbing her by the elbow and pulling her to her feet.

He led her back to the storage closet, and made her stand against the wall next to the door while he unlocked it.

"Move," he commanded, gesturing to the closet when he'd gotten the door open.

And when she had walked inside, and he had closed the door, she let out a huge sigh of relief before bending down and sliding the sheathed knife out from the side of her underwear, and out from the bottom of her dress.

Now to form a plan.

* * *

Hermione jumped out of her chair when the door slammed open Adrian Pucey stormed into her office with a deadly look on her face. Dana, the tiny, pixie-like brunette secretary, was behind him, saying frantically, "I'm so sorry, Ms. Granger, he just came right in –"

Pucey shot her a look that could kill, causing Dana to shut her mouth in fear, before turning to Hermione. "She's in danger. Where is she?" he asked in a deadly tone.

"Who?"

"Isobel!" he cried, suddenly frantic now. "I can't sense her anymore! WHERE IS SHE?"

"Dana, you can go, I've got this." Hermione waved Dana out the door. "I don't know where she –"

"LIAR!" Pucey slammed his down on her desk, causing papers to scatter and a pencil holder to roll off the desk, sending writing utensils skittering over the floor. His eyes turned from brown to red, and he took on an aura of danger. "I CAN TELL YOU'RE LYING! STOP LYING TO ME!"

Hermione had her wand out in a second, twisting it in her hand. "Please calm down, Pucey, we can talk about this. I want to find Drew, too, but I can't do that while you're in this…state. Please, sit down."

That seemed to do the trick, as Pucey's eyes turned brown again, but instead of sitting, he began to pace the length of her office.

"How did you know that Drew was missing?"

Pucey's answer was to send her a meaningful look that meant nothing to Hermione.

Hermione waved her wand and reset everything on her desk that Pucey had knocked askew with a sigh. She set the wand down on her desk and leaned forward. "That look doesn't help anyone, Pucey. You'll have to use your words."

Pucey sent her a frown.

Hermione threw her hands in the air. "This is ridiculous!" she cried. "I'm in the middle of very important business, and you're wasting my time! Either start talking or get out of my office!"

"Isobel…" Pucey tilted his head back, squeezing his eyes shut. "I need her…"

"For what?" Hermione urged. "Business, defeating some dark force –"

"No, I _need _her," Pucey corrected.

"Sexual urges?"

"Did you know that you are one of the most annoying people I've ever met?"

Hermione smirked. "Yes, but you're being just as infuriating. Get to the point, please."

Pucey said something, but it was so quietly spoken that Hermione didn't hear.

"Say what?"

"…my mate…" he murmured just loud enough for Hermione to pick up on the words.

"Who?"

"Isobel…Drew…my mate."

* * *

"So, let me get this straight," Lester said. "Ranger and Bomber have a kid."

"Yeah."

"That kid is a war heroine."

Moira nodded.

"She's only nineteen."

"Yeah."

"And has been trained in…everything, more or less."

"Sounds about right."

* * *

Adrian Pucey knew that he was handsome, knew that most witches in the wizarding world wanted him. It was something he tended to pride himself on, knowing that he could just look at a woman and have her wanting him in a relatively short amount of time. Not that he did it often, despite what people tended to think.

It wasn't fulfilling. Not like he knew it should be, the way his father and his late grandfather had tended to describe life with their respective partners.

Not the way he'd dreamed about it, pleasuring a woman, a woman without a face, but one he knew in his heart belonged to him.

And, since he saw _her _in Malfoy Manor two weeks ago, the woman in his dreams had a face, and he knew it was her, knew that he would have her heart or die trying… He longed for her, desired her, ached for her, body, mind and soul.

He would have her. He would take her, make her writhe in pleasure underneath him, make her scream out in pure ecstasy before marking her, making her his for all eternity.

She, Isobel Potter, would be his.

* * *

Moira really wanted to say something. The Rangeman conference room had lapsed into an awkward silence, and she really wanted to break it.

But, she had no idea what she was supposed to be saying.

Thankfully, Diesel popped in with a loud, "Hey, baby cousin–oh. I assume you've told them, then."

"You could, umm…yeah, you could say that." Even as he said the words, Lester had a blank mask slamming down over his face.

"Have you found her?" Moira asked.

"…to an extent…" Diesel replied with an embarrassed look.

"What does that mean?"

"Well –" Diesel produced a piece of rolled paper. He unrolled it over the table, and revealed it to be a map of a warehouse. " –I've figured out that she's somewhere in Stark Street, or the area surrounding it, but my instincts tell me that she's in this warehouse."

"Your instincts?" Ranger asked with a raised eyebrow.

"You got any solid proof of this?" Moira inquired.

"It was the only place in the area that had wards up," Diesel answered. "I would bet an extremely large amount of money that this is where Drew is. But there's something else."

"What?"

He shook his head. "Whoever's there…they've figured out how to create a magic sink –"

"What's that?" Stephanie leaned forward.

"It's when you drain an area of magic," Moira replied. "You technically wouldn't be affected because you're a Muggle –a non-magical human being. But, if I or Diesel were to walk in there, we would lose most of our magic for the length of time we were there. Depending on how long you're in one, aftereffects can include temporary dizziness and drowsiness. In a way, it makes things easier because the enemy can't use magic either –"

"But it also makes it a lot harder," Diesel corrected. "Because the enemy isn't using magic. And we can't Apparate in and out of there –"

"What do you mean, the enemy isn't using magic?"

"Greyback and the Lestrange brothers have somehow managed to get their hands on some…very special Muggles."

* * *

Hermione's eyes went wide as she suddenly understood what was going on.

"You're a –you're Veela?" she stuttered in disbelief.

"Oh, well done, Granger, thirty points to the bushy-haired Gryffindor," Pucey replied sarcastically. "Half, if you really must know."

"Unless you're going to be helpful, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. In case you haven't noticed, my best friend, and your supposed mate, is missing, and I don't have time to play mind games with snobby, egotistical, asinine Slytherins such as yourself. You either help, or you get your ridiculously nice arse the hell out of my office, do we have an understanding?" she asked, leveling a questioning look at him that she'd been told would have made Snape himself proud.

* * *

"Moira Curtis."

_"Ms. Curtis, this is Hermione Granger."_

"Nice to speak to you again, Ms. Granger, but I wish it was under better circumstances."

_"As do I. I've got information to add to this investigation."_

"And that is?"

_"Adrian Pucey is half-Veela…and he's named Drew Potter as his mate."_

"That could be bad."

_"The other… there's a hunch I've gotten since I spoke to you last.."_

"And that is?"

_"Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange have a bastard half-brother. When Drew went to speak with him, she told me later that he said they were trying to bring Voldemort back from the dead –"_

"I know this already, Ms. Granger."

_"Right, well, I've recently questioned a few werewolf Death Eaters in Azkaban. I have been led to believe that Greyback's going to try and use Drew to spawn the next great werewolf population."_

"Bloody hell! Are you serious…wait, Potter can't have children."

_"But it was Greyback who rendered her infertile with some sort of dark magic. My guess is that he knows how to undo the magic. It makes sense –she is virtually the most powerful witch in the world, and he's keeping her alive? They could have already killed her –they don't need her alive to bring Voldemort back."_

"But Voldemort would be the one to want to kill her. And if Greyback used dark magic to render Drew infertile, he'd have to use magic make her fertile again. For that, he'd have to take her out of the sink and risk her escaping –why would he do that?"

_"They've already figure out how to take the magic out of a whole area. What makes you think they can't do it to a person?"_

Moira hung up and was tempted to throw the phone at the wall again. It wouldn't have really mattered, because she had a Stone Age Nokia, but it would have made her feel a lot more in-control at that moment.

She looked to Ranger, who had a questioning look on his face.

"We need to go, and we need to go _now_."

* * *

Drew had her back against the wall right next to the door, and she was barely resisting the urge to begin connecting her occipital lobe with the wall as hard as she could.

_Think, Potter, think! What can you do?_

And then she heard the door begin to open and she saw her chance. The guard had barely stepped foot through the door before Drew was moving around the door and putting her knife to the back of his neck.

"Freeze," she said coldly.

Drew was superbly proud of herself when the guard pushed her arm away, swung around and made to point his gun at her. Before he'd even managed to turn all the way around, she had put a foot into his groin.

The guard made to yell, but the sound hadn't even made its way out of his mouth before she was hitting him in the neck right where the pulse was. He slumped to the ground, unconscious.

_Too easy._

"Really should have sent two," she muttered, dragging the body into the closet and shutting the door. "Probably three. Oh, you've got some nice stuff here. I'm really sorry about this, but I might have to borrow your gun. And your vest. And you probably won't be getting either back anytime soon."

She walked out of the closet, making sure that it was locked from the outside, five minutes later, with a bulletproof vest, a hat with the brim pushed down over her face, and a guard chained to the inside door of the closet. Drew was tempted to laugh at the sight she must have made; torn LBD, mussed, frizzy hair, a black eye, wearing a military vest and carrying a extra nine-millimeter.

On top of that, she wasn't wearing shoes, and she really couldn't figure out when she'd lost them, but –

"Hey! Where do you think you're going?"

Drew stopped her thought process and began to run.

* * *

"What's the story with the American DMLE?" Moira asked as she and Ron followed the Muggles towards the garage. Stephanie, despite their pleas, had refused to stay behind, so she had been directed to remain near the truck with Ron, Woody, Hal and Bobby. Even getting her to promise _that _much had been a struggle.

"They're refusing to send backup," Ron replied, eyes narrowed. "They won't even consider it unless you talk to them personally."

Moira sighed in frustration as she pulled her phone back out again, dialing as she spoke furiously, "Do they not understand that there are lives at stake here? Particularly one of a war heroine?"

The secretary picked up immediately. _"Department of Magical Law Enforcement, how may I –"_

"This is Senior Auror Moira Curtis, calling for Johnson."

_"I'm sorry ma'am, Mr. Johnson has requested that he not be disturbed–"_

"Listen, then," Moira said dangerously, catching the attention of Ranger as she climbed into the shotgun door of a huge, black SUV. "I don't care that Johnson doesn't want to be disturbed –my issue takes precedence over his little session with one of his Junior Aurors. There are _lives _at stake here, and I mean lots of lives, do you understand? You either get him on the phone, or I will have your entire department on its knees before the WWC before he has time to prematurely ejaculate. And I _will _come for your job first. Got that?"

Ranger was smirking as the secretary asked her to hold.

"Impressive," he noted. "What's WWC?"

"'World Wizarding Court,'" Moira replied. "Sort of like your 'Hague'."

A scratchy, irritated voice answered the phone. _"This had better be damn important, Curtis. If it isn't, I will have your job –"_

"Drew Potter has been kidnapped, and I need backup. There's been a plot to resurrect one of the darkest wizards of all time, and you refuse assistance to my Aurors? What the hell is wrong with you?"

A sigh. _"Look, Curtis, my entire department is tied up in different affairs; I don't have the resources to pool to send a backup team. The best I can do would be for me to get you a couple of ward dismantling specialists, but that is honestly it –"_

Moira hung up in the middle of one of his sentences.

* * *

Drew's bare feet slapped against cheap linoleum as the roar of her pulse thudded heavily in her ears. There were heavy footfalls close behind, and Drew knew that she had to get away quickly or be captured once more.

The hallway ahead split into two different directions. On a whim, Drew sped ahead much faster than she thought herself able to, and hung a right.

Bad decision.

She slid into a broad chest, felt a pain in the side of her head, and was out.

* * *

"Are you sure this is it?" Moira asked Diesel as she climbed out of the SUV and surveyed the area.

It was surprisingly well-kept, with freshly painted parking lines in the lot, and a wide field of short, green grass that separated the parking lot from the actual building. The building itself was maybe two stories high, and gave off a far more intimidating aura than most of the other buildings Moira had investigated.

"Have you ever known me to be wrong?" Diesel replied indignantly. "Can you see that ward?"

Moira stared for a few moments, until a bright, shimmering purple surrounding the building revealed itself to her. "Yeah."

"That's the edge of the sink. It won't block you out, but it will probably alert them that we're -"

"It's too late for that," Santos interrupted, glaring with a deathlike intensity as several figures made their way out of the door.

The last five people to come out the door were the two Lestrange brothers, Greyback, and a guard holding up a slumped figure.

"Drew!"

* * *

_"What is it that you want, Greyback?"_

_"Isn't it obvious, my dear?"_

Drew's eyes opened, and the first thing she noticed was the way her toes curled into the dewy grass. To her utter annoyance, the body armour was gone, but, to her relief, the sheathed knife was still hooked to her underwear. Her head hurt, and her legs felt like they'd fallen asleep. She wanted to lie down, but there was an arm wrapped too tightly around her waist, and a gun pressed under her chin.

A noise of protest made its way involuntarily from her throat.

"Look who's awake."

Drew lifted her head and wearily surveyed the scene in front of her.

There were a lot of people with guns. A lot.

And then there were Ron and Moira, right in the middle, with masked looks of tension and anger.

"Your friends came to get you, Mudblood," Greyback growled lowly in her ear. "How…touching."

Drew fought the urge to spit at him. "Fuck. You."

Greyback backhanded her then, and angry noises were suddenly being emitted from across the field. Drew's head, and most of her body as well, whipped to the side and were dragged back by the guard who held her. He adjusted his grip on her and continued to press the gun more firmly under her chin.

"We're going to get you out of this, Drew," Moira called out.

Drew turned her gaze to meet Greyback's yellowed eyes. Next to him stood Rodolphus and Rabastan, both looking equally intimidating.

"I'm not particularly worried," she spat.

Greyback laughed. "Ah, but you are. I can _smell _it." As if to further prove his point, he leaned closer to her, running his nose through her hair, and sending the coldest of shivers up Drew's spine as her nose was assaulted with the stench of blood and rotting meat. "There will be more, I promise you, little Mudblood–"

Drew threw an elbow into the stomach of the guard holding her. He grunted, and she smashed the back of her head into his nose hard enough to make him loosen his grip. He didn't completely let go of her, but took her with him as he fell.

She landed on her back in the grass, and all hell broke loose.

* * *

**A/N: Be sure to press that little review button below! Reviews (and cliffies!) are my drug of choice, and I am a stone-cold addict!**


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